PS 3505 
.U86 G3 
1912 
Copy 1 



#ateg of ^rben 



of Kthm 



frnrg Abama (Hurtia 



Copyright, 1912, by 
Henry Adams Curtis 



Sakoma Hark, i. 01. 



fe 



50^ 



a. 



/ 

'C(,A328857 



^ ®I|f (^nttB of Kvhtn ^ 



^^%HEN through the gates of A r den 
^^^ I saw the great white way 
That reaches toward the sunset 

Where ships at anchor lay. 
My dream was of the universe 

Beyond the misty sea. 
And there my love a-beckoning, — 
A -beckoning to me. 

When through the gates of A r den 

I saw night's crimson cars, 
Jind drifting toward the sunset 

A fleet of golden stars. 
My dream was of the universe 

Beyond the midnight sea, 
Jind there my love a beckoning, — 

A -beckoning to me. 

When through the gates of Arden 

I see the fields of green 
That smile from dawn to sunset 

Beneath the skies serene. 
My dream is of the universe, — 

My universe in thee, — 
Thou art, my love, a-beckoning, — 

A -beckoning to me. 



^ Sl|? (Satf H of Kthm ^ 

Qlomorrnui 

^J^hrohhing through market-place and street 
^^ //e Aears The Master's bugle horn. 

Nor love, nor hate, nor smiling scorn 
Put hindrance to his sandled feet; 

He feareth neither watch nor ward 
Who hails Tomorrow as his Lord. 

He walks alone; no human guide. 

Nor close companion walks with him; 

With heart undaunted, courage grim. 
He scales the pathless mountain side; 

Higher and higher climbeth he 

Into the hills of mystery. 

From faith to faith, from sooth to sooth, 
He follows ways sublime that lead 
Out from the land of faultering creed 

Into the land of light and truth; 

His beacon flame the alpine glow. 
Nor heeds the darkling world below. 

He hears the voice of councellor 

In the soft winds that whispering; 

In the tempestuous night the fling 
Of trumpets, and the guns of war; 

He sees the battle fought and won; 

The bivouac when the setting sun. 



^ El}t (^nUB of Kthm ^ 



He mindeth neither cross nor rod, 

But marches boldly toward the goal 
Where dwells the Master of his soul; 

Where waves the banner of his God; 

Or his the strength to stand and Wait 
The pleasure of that Potentate. 

For him no muffled drums are beat, 

Nor tumult from the steepled bells; 
Nor monument his story tells, 

Nor hand to Weave his winding sheet; 
By them forgot, by them unknown. 
Until tomorrow claims its own. 

March on, my brave! The songs you sing 
Shall on the rending floor be sung; 
Your stainless storm-blown banners hung 

In the proud aisles of whispering; 

jind the untrodden paths you blaze 
Shall be tomorrow's beaten ways. 



^ ®I|p (^nttB of Krhtn ^ 



^J^hey tell me summer mornings Wake 
^^ As smiling on the hills; 
'^hat down the valley, through the hrak^^ 

As noisy run the rills; 
That daisies yet the mowing strew 

Where bobolink soft sings, 
As when I drove the cattle to 
Their dewy pasturings. 

'^hey say the summer evening skies 

Are painted just as gay;, 
That through the dusk ^he swallow flies; 

The robin pipes his lay; 
The sheen is on the waving grain, 

The goldenrod in bloom, 
The same as when adown the lane 

I called the cattle home. 

I wonder if it can be true. 

And things the same as when 
For me the yellow cowslips grew; 

The violets in the glen; 
If in the misty dawning peals 

The blackbird's reedy trill; 
If through the mellow twilight steals 

The lover's laughter still. 



^ (Sl}t (&uUb 0f Kthm ^ 



I wonder if the corn shocks stand 

In Warm Odober days 
jind if o'er all the brooding land 

Spreads Autumn s golden haze- — 
// when Thanksgiving trtt^ draws near 

And Christmas mornings dawn, 
The cellar full of things that cheer. 

As in the days agone. 

Jis when down to the river's side 

I rode Old Dandy Jim, 
Where knee deep in the foaming tide 

I used to water him; 
As when the wind glad minded stirred 

The orchard noontide shade; 
As when from meadows far I heard 

The mower whet his blade. 

I wonder if old Crumpled Horn, 

Alice and Lady Jane-, 
Yet in sweet scented summer morn 

Browse in the grassy lane. 
And does some other barefoot lad 

Call home the cattle now, — 
A boy as happy and as glad 

As I was long ago. 



^ pf (&uUb of Kxhm ^ 

J^W'ajestic Night, with all thy stars adrift 
^ ^ Upon eternal seas, into thy calm, — 
Thy holy calm, I would my soul uplift, 
jlnd where thy healing halm, — 
Thy secret medications, at th^ throne 
The da^ atone. 

'Tis not thy splendor filling the immense 

Uncharted spaces, nor th\) crooning song; 
Rather it is thy large beneficence 

That seemeth to belong 
Onl^ to thee, thou tender-hearted Night, 
Breathing delight. 

When I have slumbered 'neath the solemn 
drone, — 
Th;^ kind, refreshing benedictions, — when 
Upon its noiseless wings the darkness flown, 

Shall I to toil again? 
Or Wake to grief? Or to the uncouth day 
Dread tribute pa})? 

Reveal to me the secret. Is that all? 

To take again when spreads the gairish light 
*C7?e heav}) load? As to a bugle call 

Renew the bootless fight? 
Pursue mad mirth? Trouble the joyless years 
With childish fears? 



^ ®I|f O^at^a of Krhm ^ 

My soul. In this strange stillness answers me. 

Art an Ambassador of gladness sent, 
Faring from mystery to mystery 

Unto the day now spent, 
And then of lethe drink? To faint and fall 
Neath mortal thrall? 

Brother of all glories that are past; 

Companion of the cohorts of the sun; 
And of the shining hosts fearless and vast, — 

Art thou indeed undone? 
And earth's allure, from where its gardens be, 
Breathed into thee? 

O Night; the ver^ soul of me is dumb. 

It knoweth not. Or knowing well it hides 
Behind its phantom Self, and though shall come 

Eternity's deep tides 
Sweeping along from Heaven, — or from Hell 
Unspeakcdile. 

jih, that I could for this short hour forget 
That my sick soul listened strange 
blandishments, 
But da}) has run its course, the sun is set, — 

Then from thy twilight tents 
Come forth, O Night, and sooth with soft caress 
This weariness. 



^ 5II|? (^uttB of Kthtn ^ 

Mi or yonder, Comrade, you have cleared 
your hark, 
And I who would go with you still marooned. 
Walk sad this lonesome shore and silence 
wound, 
With calling for Felice and through the dark- 

You knew her not? Knew not my soul's 
delight? 
Nor merrier the morn, and her bright eyes, — 
Her eyes were as the summer evening skies 

Where ambushed lurk ^he many stars of night. 

When on the dewy meadows her white feet 
Danced to the wind's soft fluted melodies. 
As the low breathing sound of drowsy seas 

Upon the sands Was her light laughter sweet. 

Smiling she came to me and day was filled 
With the soft radiance of rejoicing dawn; 
Nor strain from golden throated warbler 
drawn 

Clear as her song that to the gladness thrilled. 

Friend, you will speak Felice? Beside the 

gates. 
Large eyed and songless now for me she waits. 



DEC 19 mt 



PRINTED BY 

THE PIONEER PRESS 

TAKOMA PARK 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 905 153 5 # 



